Files of a Slytherin Reject
by Ellen Jacee
Summary: Greta Lestrange comes to Hogwarts, armed with a wand, a brain, and no real idea how to use either. Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except Greta. Not even her last name.
1. Of Plastic Iguanas

**files of a slytherin reject**

Greta Lestrange looked cautiously through her trunk, prepared for something to jump out. It was customary for this to happen… two years ago, it had been a plastic iguana, and last year Wen had gotten more creative, and put a plastic iguana with a stink-bomb taped haphazardly to its back in her luggage.

Naturally, Greta bet that there would be a plastic iguana involved.

Not that it mattered, but Greta was aware that the plastic iguana was the same each year. She had scratched its eye out as a means of identification, and there was an odd red stripe down its pale belly.

But next year, it would be a new iguana.

Greta knew this well, because she would be the one to stab the present one beyond the reparo spell. She hated it more than she hated Wen himself, even though that wasn't that much. He was a good guy as older brothers went, but that wasn't too far either. And the plastic iguana needed to pay, no matter what it took.

Her arm brushed something that definitely didn't belong… taking it and looking closer, Greta smugly grinned. It was the plastic iguana.

Taking out her spork from lunch, Greta muttered, "Steelio," and the once plastic spork became metal with the rather unique, advanced spell. It was one of Greta's own, but most of the people she tried to teach failed miserably.

But back to business.

Raising the metal kitchen utensil above her head, Greta slammed her arm down on the unsuspecting iguana, ripping it only a bit.

Needless to say, it took quite a while to disintegrate the entire thing. But from there, the Plastic Iguana was a beautiful thing, its malformed body seemed to have spontaneously combusted, its Styrofoam and plastic guts spilling over the luggage.

And then came the surprise.

Wen had been _very _creative this year.

Plastic Iguanas started popping up at random places throughout the room. They were spilling over desks, smothering everything else.

"Wen, I'm gonna kill you!" Greta shouted.

This was just a trivial part of her very… interesting life.

Part 1 

It was the first day of Hogwarts, and having moved from Beauxbatons, Greta needed to be sorted.

"Platform 9 and three quarters… showy bastards," Greta mumbled under her breath. "They couldn't use the standard 7 and a half, no…" her trunk floated behind her, near to the ground so that muggles would not notice its lack of propulsion or gravity. She looked up, glared at the wall, and walked through it, composure never taking a single stone, Wen stumbling after her.

The train stood before them, and Greta couldn't help but grin. It was large and red… just like Thomas the "Choochoo" that the girl she'd babysat for used to like. But now she liked other things… Greta still remembered how she had squealed so happily when she had watched "Troy"…

Not caring enough to wait for Wen, Greta loped onto the train to immediately be confronted by a girl with sort of bushy hair wearing red-trimmed robes.

"What are you doing? We aren't allowed to do magic out of school. Truly, are you trying to get expelled?" she exclaimed, and Greta just raised her eyes.

"Hi. Nice to meet you too," Greta pushed past the girl and found an empty compartment. Stupid goody-goodies. She shook her head with disdain, stuffing her laden trunk under the seat.

Staring out the window, reservedly, Greta thought about the landscape. It wasn't worth it to think about Hogwarts; it could only be so good or bad. The landscape, on the other hand, was worth thought.

It all passed rather quickly, and none of it looked quite right, but the rolling hills were rather beautiful, and the sky was the perfect shade of blue…

Greta heard the compartment door open and close with a smack.

Without bothering to look in his direction, Greta monotoned, "Hey, Wen."

"Greta, you know what I want."

Turning to look at him, Greta said, "What?" just a bit too innocently.

"Hand it over, Greta."

"You mean this?" she waved a mutilated plastic iguana under his nose, tauntingly.

"Greta, I'm gonna kill you," he stated in a perfectly calm voice, grinning slightly, and shaking his head.

Smiling, she invited, "here, sit down."

Good-tempered, Wen shook his head. "Nah, I've met a few other guys, and we're gonna plot your demise, you just wait." He smiled and laughed.

"Suit yourself, sir," Greta turned back to the window, and dove back into the fabricated landscape, immediately dismissing Wen and thinking about how to write a spell that would burn her signature into an object viewable only to students, and undetectable by anything magic or muggle.

The compartment door slid open once more, interrupting Greta's train of thought.

"What is it this time, Wen?" she asked before turning, and immediately swallowed her words.

Standing, and still filtering into the tiny space, were four guys and a blond-haired, actually rather pretty, girl. Wen followed them into what was now a rather crowded compartment.

Bored with Wen's antics, and wanting to get back to emptily staring at the countryside, Greta started shouting, "Out. Everyone, out, please. There's no room here." She muttered a spell under her breath, making everyone, including her, feel claustrophobic.

As intended, the four boys and the girl started to chaotically file out, but Wen, bless his stupid, cruel heart, laughed, saying the countercurse.

"Greta, do you hate us already? And this place is obviously empty. Trust me, I wouldn't want to make anyone here put up with you – or you embarrass me in front of them," he gave her a meaningful glance "but everywhere else was full."

Glaring genuinely at Wen, Greta sneered, "fine. I'll remind you of this incident when you're begging me not to make your life hell," and turned back to the window.

"Pardon me," said a cold voice, obviously not meaning the polite phrase, "but I believe there is a misunderstanding." The voice suggested something less like a misunderstanding and more like a threat. Greta turned back to the small congregation.

"What?" she asked bluntly.

"My name," said a blond, blue-eyed guy, stepping forward, "is Draco Malfoy. You would do well to respect me."

"Not necessarily," Greta turned to look back out the window, uncaring of who Malfoy was. She heard Wen sigh exasperatedly.

"Come on, Greta. Wouldn't you at least like to know who you're sharing your precious compartment with?"

"No, Wen, not particularly." Greta continued to stare out the window. Now it appeared that they were somewhere in the Alps… odd…

"This is not a choice Greta."

"It is if I want it to be."

Malfoy butted in rudely, possibly trying to seem charming, but failing miserably. This finally made Greta turn her head, if only to see the pathetic person standing before her. "Come on, Greta, don't you want to meet-"

"First things first, Malfoy. Sorry if I seem discriminatory, but I've already got bad vibes from you. You're a git, in the case that you didn't understand that. Second of all, don't you dare call me Greta. Call me Les. Friends call me Greta. And no, I don't want to meet." Applause rang through the compartment, and Greta noticed a few new entries from the back.

"Great job!" a tall, red-haired boy pretended to cry with joy, "I don't think I could have said something better myself."

The blonde boy, Malfoy, turned around in a flash. "What's your problem Weasley? And where's Potter? And the rest of your mudblood crowd? I thought, oh, wait, there he is, hiding behind you as usual, I see."

The boy called Potter, with black-brown hair adjusted his glasses. "Malfoy, what a pleasant surprise. We'd just heard that you were down here, thought we'd stop by for a courtesy call. Didn't know you'd be forcing your 'etiquette' on some poor new soul."

Greta had taken this diversion to go back to the window in appearance only. Under her breath, she muttered, "Bastard. Clemens Draconem portat." Latin. Greta had discovered the old spell case, often overlooked, when looking through a muggle Latin book. Angry, she had been jabbing her wand wildly and screaming the Latin phrases, irate with her own misunderstanding, when the floor and everything on it had started floating beneath her.

And thus the new spell case had been discovered, this certain one proclaiming that Clemens would carry Draco. And Clemens did.

Malfoy was suspended in mid air, held by an apparition only he could see or feel.

Sighing, Wen declared, "Greta, please, I don't know where you found all those Latin spells. Take it off him, and we'll leave you alone." The hovering Malfoy grunted something that sounded like 'yeah right,' but Wen shushed him.

"Fine." Greta muttered the Latin opposite and jabbed her wand in the proper manner. "Now leave."

Though Malfoy and his cronies filed out, Wen waited until most of them were gone. "You know Greta, It'd be great if you gave them a chance." And he left. Then three others filed in.

-----

Draco Malfoy thought as he exited the compartment. Ok, so 'thought' and 'exited' wouldn't be quite accurate.

Draco Malfoy swooned.

His heart was in the clouds, though why he thought he had a chance with Greta Lestrange escaped even the brightest of souls. What did he think when she had dangled him upside down from the compartment roof? What did he think of her jibes, directed at him?

Apparently not what Greta meant by them.

Crabbe and Goyle motioned the delusional Malfoy into another, mostly empty compartment, the only other passenger being asleep. Crabbe and Goyle were disturbed. Malfoy was never daydreaming.

They sat down, and a few moments later, Wen joined them.

"May I have a private word with Draco, please?"

Still smiling dreamily, Malfoy agreed, and stepped into the hall, the face of Greta Lestrange looming in his mind. "Sure."

Wen could see through facial expressions alone what Draco was thinking, not to mention the show of politeness he had shown Greta originally. This was not good. "Draco…"

"What?" a frown crossed the Malfoy's face as he came back to reality.

"Let's just cut to the chase. It wouldn't do well for you to hit on my sister."


	2. Of Family Friends

Part 2 

A look of confusion crossed Draco's face. "I never did."

"But you were going to. You can't deny that."

Draco stared at Wen, not knowing what to think. Finally, he decided. "Look, you don't know me. Every girl falls for me at one point or another."

"True, I don't know you. But I know Greta. And I know what happened to the last guy who tried to get her to like him."

"What?"

"You don't really want to know."

"Yes I do."

Wen sighed and shook his head, "No you don't, but let's just say that the poor kid is still in St. Mungo's, and probably won't be out of there for a few more years of therapy and the likes. And his memory's swiped."

Draco looked at Wen in horror. "But wouldn't…jail…"

"Nah, no one holds anyone even distantly related to Bellatrix Lestrange. My aunt. Greta's her favorite. And knowing what Greta did, it's not a wonder they kept her _out_ of the prisons. They couldn't detain her, once she got them riled."

Draco backed away. "I don't think I want to know anything else about your sister."

Wen smiled grimly. "Keep it that way."

-----

The tall red-haired boy stooped to get into the compartment, and was followed by a blackish haired, green-eyed boy, and a dirty-blond haired girl, the same one who had stopped her earlier.

Greta, it just so happened, was staring out the window complacently.

"That was brilliant. What's your name? Don't think I've met you before." The red-haired boy sat down uninvited. "And my name's Ron, by the way."

"Please leave me alone. That was the last show; I wish not to repeat it tonight. Greta." She continued to stare out the window.

"Oh, come on. You had Malfoy strung from the stars! Did you see that look on his face?" Ron babbled on.

"It's not my fault he's stupider than me," Greta gave in, turning to the trio. "And no, I didn't see the look on his face. The window is enrapturing."

The brown-black haired boy stepped forward, a quizzical look on his thoughtful face, "I think… no, I… wait… what's your last name? You remind me of someone."

Throwing a glance at him, Greta stated, "Lestrange. You? Full names, of course." A slight menacing tone underlined her monologue.

The three shifted glances before the dark haired boy answered. "Lestrange? Like, Bellatrix Lestrange…?" Odd. The name seemed to bring back bad memories with him…

Then it hit her. Greta frowned at him. No wonder she hadn't recognized him at first, considering he had contacts instead of the trademark glasses, and was wearing new clothing instead of the castoffs (though she was rather disappointed in herself for not having recognized the guy earlier). "You're Potter, Harry Potter, aren't you? Oh, and yeah, Bellatrix Lestrange is my aunt."

Once again they exchanged dark looks.

"Oh, so now you hate me? Just because of a last name? Fine, but be warned. Actually, Wen could do enough of that." Then, more to herself then the others, she added, "he used to get my schedule beforehand, and warn all the teachers about me so that they'd be paranoid…" a smile split her austere features, though the smile, for the memory, was directed solely at the window.

After a short discussion in hushed voices, the girl approached Greta. "Hi, I'm Hermione Granger."

Greta nodded her head in approval. "Greta Lestrange. Nice to meet you."

The train ride passed in a flurry of talk and activity.

-----

"Um, I think you should go with the first years…" Hermione bit her lip, thinking. "After all, you do need to be sorted…"

Though not friends exactly, Greta thought, they weren't precisely enemies, either.

"Firs' years, firs' years, callin' all firs' years." The booming voice echoed down the corridor. Greta stood up and grabbed her suitcase.

"Oh, you won't need that. It'll be sent to your rooms."

Greta looked at them austerely and inclined her head. "I don't trust them." Then left the compartment, following the voice. Her trunk tumbling behind her, Greta found the source, a tall – _very_ tall – man with a long black beard.

"Hello?"

He looked down at her. "Oh, heller, I'd specific 'structions for you – you are Greta Lestrange, right?"

He said the last name with the tiniest bit of venom.

"Yes, I am."

He pulled a blackish, patched up wad out of his leather coat. "Here, put this on, jus' a sec. 's the Sortin' hat. Dumbledore thought 'at he oughtn't make a big deal out 'o a new girl, so… an' my name's Hagrid."

"Nice to meet you, Hagrid." Greta took the decrepit hat from him, and put it on, fingers touching only the brim as if it were something filthy, which it was. Gingerly, she placed it on her head, and barely repressed a jump when it began to speak inside her head. She glanced up at Hagrid to make sure he couldn't hear it, and stood in the rain, holding her elbows to keep from shivering.

_Hello, Miss Lestrange. I recall your aunt… pity she turned out that way; she could have been such a great sorceress._

Uh, thank you, Greta thought to the hat, skeptical of it, unaware that the hat would pick up her skepticism.

_Yes, she was a personal favorite. I just wish Azkaban didn't favor her so much… hanging out with Lucius was probably what did her in. I apologize…_

I know what you mean. She's the slightest bit overzealous, and I agree; she could have been great, but, alas… it is not my choice how she wastes her life.

_Greta, Greta, and you her favorite neice. I am shocked!_ Greta could detect sarcasm in the hat's voice. _So, how's life in general? Bella wasn't at all phased by having to kill her own flesh and blood? And how's your Uncle Gregor? Last I heard – wait, oh crap. I'm supposed to be sorting you, yeah…_

What are you, like a stalker or something? And Uncle Greg's fine. He just sold his revenge charms business.

_Funny how it didn't seem to disturb you that I could be a stalker, but I'm not. Family friend. But as to where you should go… _The hat coughed and cleared its throat. _Greta, look at all the wrong you've done. _It intoned in a much deeper, fake voice. _Think of all the lives you've – oh, crap, nevermind. _The hat abandoned its false tone. _Look, I'm inclined to put you into Ravenclaw, but The way you deal with things leaves me no choice… _"Slytherin."

What are the houses… I mean?

_Oh, you'll figure it out sometime or other, and would you mind dropping by Dumbledore's office every once in a while? I like to keep up with current events…_

The hat was taken off Greta's head, and Hagrid looked down at her in a disapproving manner. "Slyth'rin, eh? Keep out 'o trouble, will ye?"

Then he stalked off, leaving her in the cold, wondering where to go.

Okay… she had seen Ron, Hermione, and Harry walk over near the trees… shivering, Greta made her way over, finding several carriages waiting. Not bothering to look for the 'golden trio,' Greta, pulling her green trunk, stomped into the first carriage she saw.

"Need any help with that?" a cool, self-assured voice penetrated the darkness. Greta glanced up, to find two blue eyes watching her carefully.

"No, I don't," she replied. Idiot. Did he think she'd need his help after she dangled him from the ceiling? She unabashedly stepped back into the quagmire, to find that there were only two carriages left waiting, both at least thirty yards away; thirty yards Greta didn't feel like walking.

So she climbed back up, set her luggage down, and stared straight ahead, ignoring the three other occupants of the carriage.

"I don't think we were properly introduced before." The boy held out his hand. "My name is Draco Malfoy."

No answer.

"This is Crabbe, and here's Goyle."

No answer. In fact, Greta was _enthralled _by the side of the carriage facing her. Yeah right.

Irritated, Malfoy stood up and shouted in her face. "Hel_lo._ Can you hear me? Or are you deaf?" He paled and swallowed the words right after they escaped his lips.

No answer.

The rest of the ride passed in silence, in which Greta pleasantly studied the carriage wall.


	3. Of Food, Sleep, and Eccentrics

**A/N: HEY! Thanks a whole lot to my reviewers, and I would appreciate more. (hint hint) I'm not going by the whole movie theme about Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, in the case you didn't notice. Clarimonde is going to be a major character, and sorry if this chapter lacked the traditional humor.**

Part 3

Once in the Great Hall, Greta took a seat at the end of the Slytherin table, musing about how unintelligent it was to split the student body like this. It kept everyone in separate little "wars" against each other, nevermind the competition from other schools.

"Ahem," everyone quieted to look to a tall senior citizen with a long white beard that was clearly for naught but decoration. "We are all gathered today at Hogwarts to welcome those new-comers that make our school possible. Aside from the traditional, unnecessar- I mean, _informative_ speech from Mr. Filch, we shall begin the sorting, then finally… yeah yeah yeah, you all know the procedure…" Greta assumed this to be Dumbledore, the headmaster. Everyone seemed shocked at his slight erring, but everyone (with the exception of the majority of the Slytherin table) clapped too, if hesitantly at first.

"Aural, Seigor." The boy stepped up to "the plate," and the hat was placed on his head. In seconds, it had shouted "Hufflepuff." Glad that she'd had more time with the hat, Greta watched the show.

"Atson, Emili." And so the names flew by, quickly reaching Yvonne Zensen, Slytherin, progressing to the dinner. The poor hat was put aside for future use, to have nothing to do for the year but make up its new song. And philosophize.

Greta sat on the very end of the bench, waiting for something to happen. It occurred to her that she was rather hungry, and in so thinking, she turned to the Slytherin seated beside her. "Hello?" She liked that phrase.

"Uh, yeah?" The boy was one she'd seen on the train that had never been introduced.

"Does anyone eat here?" She raised an eyebrow pointedly. "And what is your name?" Inwardly, Greta cringed. How stupid could you sound? Asking for someone's name. But it was necessary.

He held out a hand. "Blaise Zabini. Nice to meet you, Greta Lestrange. And yeah, just wait a sec."

She glanced distastefully at the hand and ignored it. "You're on the right track. It's Les or Lestrange to you, Mr. Zabini."

"Well I insist on being called Blaise." He grinned. "Couldn't care less about formalities."

Greta smiled, confidently, thinking to herself. "I don't do with formalities either; none of this Greta Lestrange junk. 'Your Majesty' will do."

Blaise bowed awkwardly in his seat. Nice kid, learning the ropes rather quickly… "Yes, your Majesty."

Both you and he laughed slightly.

Then the table shimmered for a second, and food appeared. Platters everywhere of just about any food imaginable; chicken, steaks, beef, pork… Greta smiled slightly and eyed the meat. Her "sweet" tooth. And of course there were veggies, but forget those.

Heaping a great deal of food on her plate, Greta dug in, moving systematically, elegantly, and rather slowly, ignoring the looks she was getting from Zabini.

He pulled his wand out of his pocket, and Greta sat up, alert, swallowing the last bite she had taken.

"Relax, c'mon, I was just going to see how tall this was…" He held his wand up to the pile on her plate, squinting at it. "M' wand's 11 and ½ inches, so this'd have to be about… oh, I'd say 7 inches? You'd kill yourself like that."

"Not necessarily," replied the naturally prim and proper Greta, picking up her fork again. "We all must eat. It's your choice to starve yourself."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, and Greta ignored him for the remainder of the evening.

-----

"Dumbledore? Prof- I mean, Headmaster?" Greta ran along, her suitcase bouncing behind her on the cobbled floor.

"Yes?"

"My name's Greta, sir. Greta Lestrange. I was wondering-"

Dumbledore scrunched up his nose. "Yes. Lestrange. Related to Bellatrix, I presume?"

"Yes, my aunt. But I was wonder-"

"Lestrange." Gosh, why did people have to be so- so _unnaccepting_ of the fact that she was a Lestrange? The name was a curse.

"Look, the sorting hat-"

"You think it sorted you incorrectly? I cannot make any changes." Greta rolled her eyes. And this was supposedly the only one the Dark Lord, Voldemort, was afraid of?

"No, just listen-"

"I have been."

"The sorting hat gets bored. It would like to keep up with current events. It actually is a person, and to keep it locked up is cruel."

"Your point?" Dumbledore looked down at her, his half-moon spectacles glinting.

"If you could give it a copy of the Daily Prophet every once and a while it could be a much happier hat." Wow. That sounded wrong. A happier hat.

"Well, Miss Lestrange, I have a proposition to make." The headmaster looked down at her, quietly.

And remained quiet.

It was an awkward silence.

A very long awkward silence.

It was a silence.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"What was your proposition?"

"Oh, yes, of course, I thought you'd forgotten. Why didn't you ask a min- nevermind. Anyway, since you seem to be the student who cares enough for the hat to want it to have civil liberties, I should think you ought to be the one to dole them out. Here." He pulled the patched, dirty black cloth out of his robe pockets and handed it to Greta. "And why'd you like it in the first place? Just curious."

"Family friend," was all that Greta said.

Dumbledore nodded understandingly, and they went their separate ways.

-----

_First evening at Hogwarts. First evening at Hogwarts. _The sentence replayed itself several times in Greta's head as she stared out the window into the dark night, the stars and moon glinting on the pane of glass before her. She was lucky to have this dorm; apparently fewer and fewer people were being sorted into Slytherin each year, and this was an extra room. Thus, Greta had only one roommate who was another transferal, but from Durmstrang.

She supposed they thought they'd get along with one another considering they were both new and in the same year. Pity.

Wen had been sorted into Gryffindor, which had been an odd turn of events. Still though, Malfoy continued to hang out with Wen (or vice versa), and they got along fine. That also happened to be a pity.

_Pity… pity… pity…_ Soon enough, Greta was asleep. As you can probably determine, that generally doesn't suit her. She's supposed to work tirelessly for revenge, or good, or evil, but Greta couldn't care less.

------

At five o'clock, Greta awoke. This was generally the way her mornings went. She was always up at 5. She always wondered why most people weren't.

Creeping silently over to the door that lead to her roommate's dorm, Greta readied her wand. She tapped the door open slightly, and a bright red flare flew at her.

"_Expelliarmus!_" The transfer shouted.

"_Ita vera…_" Greta knew any spell would work, as long as she aimed perfectly, which is what she really concentrated on. Still, any canceling spell would work ten times better. The two flashes met and Greta flourished her wand in the appropriate manner. Now it was time to deal out the punishments.

"What the- wait," she took a deep breath, "what were you doing?"

"I'd like to know the same thing, considering you were creeping into my bedroom at five o'clock in the morning. With a wand." She flung her platinum blonde, near white, hair, over her shoulder.

"Excuse me? Why were you even awake?" Greta stood there, giving the transfer the evil eye.

"What about you?"

"You first." Greta menacingly held up her wand, which was different from most other people's in the way that it was a silvery wood with an intricate carving on the handle in offsetting red cherry. It was long enough to give the perfect image.

"Pardon me, I'm just not used to having strangers creep around my dorm. Ever think it might freak someone out, or are you above that?" She spat sarcastically. "So, again, you?"

"Why were you up and armed at five? And what's your name?" Greta slitted her eyes and made her wand even more visible.

"Gosh, what's your problem? Let's see… I always wake up at five. The name's Clarimonde Ludwick. Most people call me Deric." Deric attempted to make a friendly gesture, which didn't fit her at all.

"Fine. My name is Greta Lestrange. Most people call me Les, or, preferably, Lestrange. I always wake up at five, or four, and I just wanted to see if you were asleep. And you never gave me a satisfactory answer."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Why were you armed?"

"Umm… isn't it just sort of sane? I'm from _Durmstrang _here. Not some frilly little Beauxbatons. Don't you… nevermind. Let's just say it's liable to be attacked." She stepped out of bed and yawned haphazardly.

"Beauxbatons is _not_ some frilly little school. In fact, I'd heard some of the worst of rumors about Durm-"

"Fine, okay… whatever. I'm not going to ask." Deric effectively neutralized Greta. "So, what do you want to do?"

**A/N II: Hey again! Did you like this? Tell me… click the little purple button and SUBMIT A REVIEW! A novel concept, eh? But please… even just to say this was the worst thing you've seen in your life. At least it's feedback. Oh, and please check out my profile thing.**


	4. Of Pride and Revenge

**A/N: Ehy. This is the author. I'm very sorry about this part; it was very detached, and it's not as long as the others, but it's four pages, so that suits the criteria. Ok, so I cheated, it's three and a half pages. Sorry. And and early apology to Fallon, who is possibly reading this.** Part 4 

"Oh, god, how do you – no, I won't ask."

Greta was standing beside the lake, gaping at Deric, who was swimming along peacefully, seemingly unaware of the temperature, or lack thereof. It may have been somewhere near the absolute zero.

"What?" Deric laughingly inquired, though she knew exactly what Greta meant. "This isn't too bad. Actually, I'd go so far as to say a bit colder might be nice."

"Shut up. Stop showing off." Greta yelled to Deric. "It's not my fault most people don't go swimming in zero degree water at five in the morning. Pardon _me._" She felt strangely cheerful, this morning, taking into consideration that she'd been attacked earlier, and also taking into consideration that that traumatic event would have a negative effect on her entire life, and it was all Clarimonde's fault. So I suppose "strangely cheerful" would mean "slightly less cynical."

Greta stared out over the lake, thinking casually about today, the start of classes, the need to further decorate her dorm, and the general nervousness (that Greta assured herself she didn't have; she wasn't with such scum that felt _nervousness_) that came along with the first day of school, even for those returning to Hogwarts.

"Bye." Greta stood up, dusted off her robes, and sauntered jovially back into the castle. She wouldn't have left Deric under normal circumstances, but Greta felt pressed to prove her obligations to no one, even if this particular no one dormed with her.

It had been about an hour, so it should be around six… enough time to do _some _sort of exploration.

Stepping through the door they'd found to the outside (there weren't many other than the doors in the Great Hall, they'd both found), Greta figured that maybe, the hat would like some company, and even if it didn't, she certainly would. Company that wasn't Deric, anyway.

Here was the entrance to the common room, a set of double doors. "Crud." Greta muttered. She'd forgotten the password.

Alas, she thought, it was time to attempt to use the power her name held.

Glaring grimly at the doors (for there had to be _something_ that opened them), Greta stated, with perfect poise, "You may or may not know, but Bellatrix Lestrange is my aunt."

She glared.

And kept glaring.

In fact, she glared for two full minutes, an all the while, the doors did absolutely nothing.

Well, wasn't that just crud a hundred times over.

"Need some help with that?" a suave voice came from behind her. Already knowing who it was, Greta didn't turn around, and refused to answer. In fact, she went so far as to cross her arms and strike a "devil may care" pose.

"I'd take that as a no," the voice (for she refused to call it by any other name) came, a hint of amusement trailing in its wake. "ingen serpentum." The doors swung open, and though there was plenty of time for Greta to follow, she refused.

_What slime uses such horrid Latin?_ Greta wondered. Her wonderment was rhetorical.

-----

"Sir?" Greta approached Dumbledore.

"Yes?" He looked down at her, squinting his eyes slightly so that you could see them through his glasses.

"When do I have trig.?" She waited, and was rather sure Dumbledore could almost _see_ her foot tapping the floor and her fingers drumming in impatience.

She'd moped around all morning until people came in for breakfast, and she'd taken a seat far away from everyone. Deric hadn't come in, so Greta had saved a nasty muffin (it was nasty on purpose – it had little green things in it, and when Greta tried it, she felt nauseous, and that her observatory skills of food to test how they taste were optimal) for her. Blaise didn't get up as early as she (nor did Malfoy), so she was spared sitting with either.

Then their schedules had come, and Greta was wondering when she had her trigonometry class – it was no where on the schedule (nor was anything like algebra, geometry, or calculus), and no one else (though she didn't make a point of looking at other people's schedules, she got glimpses of them) seemed to have anything like that either.

Greta figured that she had to ask Dumbledore, or someone, I mean, wands and magic, though they were useful, couldn't do algebra problems. They couldn't compute the size of polygons.

"What is this… 'trig' you speak of? If you are talking about the muggle weapons, then we don't teach those."

"No… I'm talking about trigonometry… math?" Greta was obfuscated, and tried to use one syllable words, but she wasn't too good at that.

"Oh, you mean, like 5 plus 5 is elev- I mean, ten?"

"No… like x plus 18 is equal to y minus the slope of bla bla bla…" she futilely attempted to elucidate.

"I'm not sure I understand this concept of 'x' and 'bla' but I'm sure it's unnecessary. We are bestowed with magic; we don't need this trig thing."

It was a lost cause, and Greta merely said "ok" and went on her merry (a/n: stamping) way. Maybe Deric knew trigonometry. In any case, Greta wasn't giving it up. If need be, she'd do it in her free time.

It was ignorance, she decided, that allowed them to neglect the mathematical abilities of their students.

More and more students had come down to eat, so Greta decided it was time to leave (a/n: on her merry stamping way). She certainly did not wish to run into Malfoy.

Wait – Greta realized something. Her grasp of foreign language (several were required at Beauxbatons) allowed her to recognize stuff like derivatives.

Odd, how Malfoy's name had the full word of 'bad,' which could be considered a derivative of another French word, meaning 'sick.'

Odd how that wasn't very odd.

-----

After nearly crashing into an unnaturally dry Deric, and handing over the now disintegrate muffin, Greta finally made her way to the entrance to the Slytherin common room, preparing herself for humiliation.

"Ingen serpentum." She did it quickly, like a bandaid, and actually flinched. She didn't pretend to flinch, she actually flinched. Flinched. (a/n: sorry Fallon. Had to.)

The stupid git's "suave" voice came from behind her once again. "Password's been changed; weren't you informed? Oh – wait, I forgot."

She could kill the owner of that voice without qualms. If only she was given the chance.

Turning slowly, she answered anyway.

"No, I was not informed, though I would like to file a complaint to the head of Slytherin that the password is changed too often."

"Oh, well that's fine too. I am head of Slytherin – Professor Snape oversees my actions, naturally, but I shall contemplate your request. Good day."

She flinched.

She seemed to be doing a lot of flinching these days.

"The password?" Greta didn't try to mask the effect her gritted teeth gave her tone.

"Sorry, it's confidential," the blond boy whispered the code to the door so that Greta couldn't hear it, and jauntily strutted through the revealed passage.

Greta couldn't bring herself to follow him. She waited a good five minutes until the doors were shut, then, stone by stone, excavated the wall beside the doors using her wand. The work took a good twenty minutes, and by the end, her face was red, mostly from holding back retorts, insults, screams, and hexes that she so desperately wanted to throw at the Prince of Slytherin, as opposed to hard work.

But the wall was beautiful. What was even better was the way her actions were silent. Few people came through, and those who did couldn't care less about Greta.

A pile of the bluish cobblestones that made up the entire castle, not to mention the mortar and other rubbish that came out with them, were laying in a haphazard pile in the hallway. Stepping carefully, surefooted, Greta held her head high, and entered the Common Room through the resulting cavity.

The look on Malfoy's previously smirking face was worth any twenty minutes of her life.

**A/N: I am about to use reverse psychology on you.**

**Don't review.**

**And now for a lovely interview with Mr. Malfoy, Jr, to make up for the lovely shortness.**

**Author: We would love to hear your thoughts about how your lovely story, or play, whichever you prefer to call it, is progressing.**

**Mr. Malfoy: What the – this is a damned tragedy. It's neither. And I'm supposed to fall in love with that _hag?_**

**Author: You already have. And a tragedy is a play. Do you see any parallels with your life? And "that hag" is Greta.**

**Mr. Malfoy: My favorite color is brown.**

**Author: What?**

**Mr. Malfoy: My favorite color is brown.**

**Author: Where'd that come from? We're talking about parallels.**

**Mr. Malfoy: I'm talking about lack thereof. It says in the script my favorite colors are black and green, but my favorite color is quite obviously brown. I'm pointing out the lack of parallels.**

**Author: You're kidding.**

**Mr. Malfoy: What?**

**Author: So… how did you enjoy playing Gloria ((is that the right name?) in "Jane Eyre?" Seems the part would suit you uncannily.**

**Mr. Malfoy: What is this "Jane Eyre" you speak of?**

**Author: smirks**

**Mr. Malfoy: What?**

**Author: This shall be continued… in a literal and figurative sense.**


	5. Of Flitwick

Part 5 

"Lestrange," his rather nasal voice called out, "that wall was there for a reason." Malfoy jumped to his feet and crossed his arms, glaring full force.

"Yes," she replied, "and I'm afraid to inform you that I took it down – _for a reason."_ She crossed her arms as well, mirroring his pose, and glaring _double _force. A crowd began gathering around the two, and Greta smirked. "I suppose this is not resolved?" she asked, still smirking, and stepped lithely up the steps to the girls' dorms.

Today she had Charms first, Greta made note. Should be fairly simple – judging by the book they used, anyway. It was a really easy book, and Greta had already learned fifty percent of the charms and theories on charms it contained. Admittedly, Beauxbatons had been fairly simple too – few schools were altogether too competent anymore. Greta had to at least agree with her aunt on this.

_Now,_ she pondered, _where is the actual classroom?_ Her schedule had said nothing of that manner – only what she had, when she had what, and etcetera like that. They had so graciously provided the name of the teacher on the schedule as well. Flitwick.

That was really no use. Now if they had only _properly _thought it out…

But of course, they hadn't. The directors of this school certainly did not appear to be fully capable. It was really a wonder they were conscious beings at all.

"Quaero magister," Greta tapped the page with a flourish knowingly. A well-known sensation filled her, and she followed the magnetic pull that was within. Surely enough, it led her to the proper location – a large cobbled classroom with large arched windows and massive piles of massive books hanging around everywhere. She began to ignore the pull when she entered the room, knowing it would take her further to the professor, and she really couldn't care less about finding him.

"Terminus," Greta muttered once, not bothering even to tap her wand. The pull inside of her subsided immediately, and she took a seat in the second row of desks. Admittedly, they were arranged strangely – they were ordered in three rows on both sides of the doors, so that someone could walk up and down the center to lecture. It was a nice setup, Greta concluded. And the books were further indication that the teacher would be somewhat interesting.

The seats around her began to fill, one of them with Blaise. She ignored his presence.

"Morning, Greta." He ended his statement, but continued to look at her, waiting for a reaction. Greta battled internally as to whether or not she should provide one.

She glared. "It's Lestrange to you." Turning back to her books she stated, "morning." Hey, it was a compromise.

Then from behind her, she heard another voice.

"Lovely morning, isn't it Miss Lestrange?"

This time, she just ignored the voice.

-----

"Lestrange, Greta?" The incredibly short, somewhat elderly man standing on a stack of books called out the name and looked around.

"Here." She waved her hand around a bit so as to illustrate her location. It was a pity Deric wasn't in this class – she could at _least_ be provided someone to talk to while she re-learned all of these lessons that she knew, and instantly mastered the ones she hadn't learned before.

Professor Flitwick glanced at her speculatively, and said, "I'll need to speak to you sometime during class today."

"Okay." Greta yawned behind her hand as the professor continued with the roll call. Soon enough he had finished, and had perched (in a literal sense) upon a stack of books near to the windows on the end of the classroom.

"Now, as most of you know, this class deals with charms, how to do them, theory behind them, the history of, and, this year a new topic will be added to the regime. You will have a full year project on creating, studying, and theorizing about _a charm of your own. _You will be fully responsible for inventing it, determining why it acts the way it does, and many other factors. I have assigned groups of two for this project." Groans emanated throughout the room, whispers ensuing.

"He _always _puts us together alphabetically," complained one Ravenclaw. "I _always _end up with Zabini." She shot Blaise a glare as if he were at fault for this arrangement.

Pity Deric wasn't in this class, twice over. Her last name and Greta's were so close… but now she would just have to wait. In suspenseful silence. Or rather, not really suspenseful silence.

"Class," Flitwick warned. The class hushed. "As I was saying, before I was so _rudely _interrupted, I will pass out the criteria sheets now. Next class I will have a list of groups drawn up and we will begin with the elements of said project and illusionary charms. Miss Lestrange, please." Flitwick hopped down the stack of books to sit on another by his desk, waving Greta over.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Lestrange… quite frankly, I would like to know how much of the curricula for past years and or this year you have managed to grasp." What a longwinded way of asking what she knew.

"To be honest," she shuffled her feet in an action of mock modesty, "I know most of this stuff already. I went ahead in the summer." Flitwick gave her a long glance.

"Do you really want to skip a year, though? It might just be easier to go along with the system and make this an easy transition year. I could pair you up with one of the students in need of mentoring for the project, and you could use this class as a service project to look good on your diploma." Surprisingly enough, it seemed like this teacher, though not of extreme stature, really cared about her academic success.

Greta liked people who liked her.

And, to be honest, there weren't very many of them.

"I'd be glad to do that." Flitwick gave her a reassuring smile.

"I hope you have an excellent time at Hogwarts, Miss Lestrange."

This was the first person who didn't cringe or smirk at the sound of her last name.

"It was nice to meet you, sir." Greta's voice held true respect, not a fraudulent mask of esteem.

------

It was lunch, and Greta was _not _liking Professor Flitwick so much. In fact, she was not liking him at all. She had retracted all of her former good will the second he assigned her partner.

Really, it had been her fault – how was _she _to know that Malfoy was in need of academic aid when it came to charms? And really, it had been a lose-lose situation; even if she had just accepted the alphabetic pairing, L and M were right beside each other there, too.

Rather than blame her own ignorance of her alleged enemy for her misfortune, Greta drowned her sorrows in chocolate and steak, and blamed Flitwick. Contrary to what might be expected of her, she did not insult many people at lunch – she found it easier to insult people when she was in a pleasant mood, and preferred to merely infect people surrounding her with a sorrowful mien when she was disgusted with life and sulky. It was like a policy to go about life with – "if I'm not happy, no one else can be."

It seemed to fit Greta terribly well.

"Deric, when I die, I want to be cremated."

"And I care … why?"

"You don't. I do."

This was the not-so-terribly-enthralling caliber of conversation at Greta's end of the Slytherin table. Deric knew Greta well enough (after a grand total of spending one or two hours with her) not to ask her to delve into the details of the morning. It didn't seem to take a great deal of experience dealing with Greta to be able to read her well.

Abruptly, Greta stood up and left the table, taking her books with her.

Deric could swear that she saw a metallic glint enter into Greta's eyes, and even more could testify that they saw her smiling sardonically as she left the Great Hall.

Greta laughed silently to herself. They thought they had her pegged.

**A/N: Okay, so I disappeared. And this is still short. So sue me. But it would be nice if you didn't... and it would also ...**

**nevermind. You're a reader. You can guess exactly what I want to say...**


End file.
